


Drunken Disorderly

by ausmac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alcohol had a lot to do with it - and more than a bit of counting coup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Disorderly

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my personal favorite fanfics I wrote back in the earlier HP days. Again, the characters are adult and it is obviously AU, having been written before the final novel and film were released.

What worried him, even more than the fact that almost every one of the people he’d known during his teenage years had got boring and plump, was the fact that after a few mugs of beer, Severus Snape was looking very good.

The beard might have something to do with that.  Or possibly the silver streaks.  Or the fact that longer hair and a beard and silver streaks altogether with that snarky, nasty, bad tempered package of bastardly Slytherin wizard were just…tasty.

And that proved it was the drink because he’d never seen the man as tasty.  Infuriating.  Hateful.  Scornful.  But never appetising.

He realised he’d been staring at the subject of his inebriated interest when that scorn was directed at him, first by a glare and then by a physical approach.

“What!?”

“You were glaring at me, I assume with reason?  Or is it just catching up with old dislikes?”

The Voice hadn’t changed.  Damned sexy, why hadn’t he ever realised that?  He thought honesty might be the best policy, especially since he was obviously drunk, and deception required sobriety.  “I was thinking you looked tasty.”

One dark eyebrow rose into the realms of disbelief.  “Are you drunk, Potter?”

“Yes.  Do you think you might want to take advantage of me?”  He tried winking, but his eyelid seemed to be malfunctioning.

The dark eyes studied him where he sat slouched in the overstuffed armchair.  “Oh yes, I shall ravish you momentarily.  I’ve always wanted to, of course.”

Harry checked the room, but no one was close enough to overhear, and those that were seemed drunk enough not to care.  When he looked back Snape had vanished; he was disappointed until he realised Snape was sitting next to him. “What were we talking about?”

“The fact that you suddenly fancy a man old enough to be your father and whom you have previously loathed.”

Harry blinked.  “No we weren’t.  I’d remember discussing that.  And besides,” he said, with a flourish of his beer mug, “who’s to say I don’t fancy older men I dislike?”  There was something wrong with that sentence, but it escaped him before he could think about it.

“Oh, so I can have you if I want you, then?

Harry twisted in the chair, slopping beer over his hand.  Snape was sitting back, one leg over the other, holding a nearly full glass of something.

“You can’t just have me.  I just don’t give myself away, y’know.  Are you going to drink that?”

“Probably.  And no, you cannot have it, you’ve drunk enough.  So you are for sale then.  How much?”

Harry swapped the mug from one hand to the other and licked the spilled beer from his hand.  “I don’t think I meant that.  I probably meant something else.” He sucked his fingers, looking up to find Snape watching him with an odd sort of fixed stare.  “That’s…that’s thingy.  Word for it.  Selling yourself.”

“Prostitution.”

He nodded.  “Yeah, that’s it.  You’re good with words.”

“So I have been told.  Come on, Potter, you are too drunk for your own safety.  I will take you home.”

Harry felt he should probably have something to say about that, but he soon found himself upright, without the beer mug, and being moved through the crowd, which parted for him in a clever sort of way.  When he was next able to give the matter some thought, he found himself at home in his flat, with Snape helping him take his clothes off.  He didn’t need help, of course, he was quite capable.

“Don’t do that.”

“Potter, you have thrown up over yourself and are a mess.  Now, don’t fight me or I’ll Stupify you.”  Snape grimaced as he stripped off Harry’s shirt.  “Hell, you stink.  Did you have to drink so much?”

“Yes, had to.  People were toasting.  Ron.  Hermione.  Dumbledore.”  The fingers paused and Harry looked up, blinking and swaying.  Snape was watching him and seemed a bit pale.  “You remember him.  You killed him.”

“Oh yes, I remember him.”  Snape stepped backwards and dropped his hands.  “You can manage for yourself now.”

With a sudden mind of its own, Harry’s hand shot out and grabbed Snape’s arm.  “I hated you.  Really hated you.”

Snape was still there, and Harry felt the black eyes trying to drill through him.  “Yes.  I imagine you did.”

“But I was wrong.  To hate you.  I sometimes…dunno…didn’t think.  Never said sorry.  For the hate.  ‘m sorry.”

Snape pulled his arm away.  “It isn’t necessary to apologise.  You were right all along, Potter.  I’m not a very nice man.”

Harry stumbled forward and threw his arms around Snape.  “Me neither!”

Snape swore and pushed Harry backwards.  “Wonderful.  Now I’m covered with it as well.  Have you no common sense?  What am I saying, of course you don’t, you idiot.”

They did a sort of stumble-dance into Harry’s bathroom and his clothes were removed along the way until he was standing in one sock and his underpants in his shower.  It stopped being funny about the time the cold water hit him. 

He opened his mouth to yell and took in mouthfuls of soapy water.  “MERLINS GREAT HAIRY BALLS…choke…. YOU ..splutter….BASTARD!”

Someone snickered and he swiveled around to see Snape watching him from outside the shower.  He was leaning against the tiled wall, arms crossed over his chest.  “A new take on washing your mouth out, Potter.”

Years of field magic provided the wandless magic he needed. Before Snape could react, Harry had pulled him onto the shower and under the water.  He held on to the taller figure, ignoring the shoves and curses, as the water warmed and he wondered just what he was supposed to do with an armful of soaked and very annoyed Slytherin wizard.

He’d lost his glasses somewhere, but his eyesight was better than it had been due to the magic he’d used over a lifetime, and he could see the other man’s features more or less clearly through the fog of steam.  There was something oddly intriguing about seeing Snape so close, of watching the water cascade off that noble edifice of a nose, turning his hair slick and gleaming.  He put a hand up and touched the dark mass.

“Nice and warm and wet…”

A hand grabbed his wrist and for a moment he thought Snape was going to hit him, or possibly kiss him.  Sadly he did neither; he twisted Harry’s arm behind his back and hauled him backwards out of the shower.

“It’s a wonder I haven’t slaughtered you long before this.”  The hand propelled him across the room with a shove.  “Dry yourself.”  A towel hit him on the back of the head and he stumbled, catching himself against the bedpost.

It seemed like a good idea, but the first thing was to get the soaked underpants off.  Harry bent over, pulling the pants down and over one foot; it happened to be the foot with the half-off sodden sock; he teetered, overbalanced, grabbed something that turned out to be Snape and fell backwards onto the bed, with Snape landing on top of him.

~ ~ ~ ~

Severus had not planned to attend the tenth anniversary gathering celebrating Voldemort’s demise, but a need for closure had taken him away from his writing for the night.  He’d expected to be mostly ignored, but then he was used to that.  What he hadn’t expected was to find Harry Potter sitting in an armchair, obviously thoroughly spliced, and by himself.

Or to find that the sight of an inebriated and a quite helpless looking Harry Potter appealed to him on levels he really didn’t want to think about.

What impulse had pushed him to take Potter home he didn’t know, but the impulse had taken him down the path of I-Will-Regret-This until he ended up, soaking wet, sprawling on top of a mostly naked Hero of Wizardom.

Not to mention quite exquisitely aroused.

 “I was wrong,” Snape said in a contemplative tone from where he lay fell-length on top of Harry.  “You’re not an idiot, you’re a total imbecile.”

Harry patted Snape’s arm, his eyes unfocused and wandering.  “Thanks.  Did you know your clothes are still wet, and you’re sort of heavy.  Is that your wand or…?”

And before Snape could start to move away, a chilled hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down.  He fought for balance as Harry kissed him squarely on the chin. Teeth jarred against his jaw.

Harry crossed his eyes and winced.  “Ouch, I think.  Could you…just move..”  And he wriggled and squirmed, which did nothing for the wand in Snape’s pants.  He was about to push backwards, stand, and beat a dignified retreat, when Potter…Harry, may as well call him Harry, when we’re quite inside each other’s personal space here…lunged upwards with drunken strength and latched onto his mouth. 

Really good thing I washed his mouth out was Snape’s first irrelevant thought, followed by, this is a very, very bad idea.  Yet he didn’t pull away, because he wanted it, and at that moment Harry wanted him, and Severus Snape was, and would always be, an opportunist.

Can always blame it on the drink he thought in a small corner of his brain not devoted to getting his wet clothes off and his cold body wrapped around Harry.  They rolled over the bed and Snape ended up on his back with Harry lying atop him, with hands no longer quite so clammy, stroking his shoulders and chest and stomach and then that disruptive, quarrelsome, over-active mouth was wrapped around his cock and sucking on it with enthusiasm and a happy lack of teeth.

In the vernacular, it was mind-blowingly good.

He pulled Harry around, parted his thighs and stroked the puckered arse with a finger, watching it twitch, then leaned forward to practise his rarely-used fellatio skills.  Harry didn’t seem to find his mouth inadequate; he writhed, the pressure on Snape’s cock grew and just when he thought he might be about to experience the best orgasm of his life….someone snored.  As it wasn’t him, he looked down and saw --

Harry had fallen asleep.  In the middle of sex.  Asleep.

It was one of those moments where a person wasn’t quite sure whether to curse, weep or laugh.  But one thing Severus Snape did know, as he slid out from beneath the unconscious young wizard, was that Potter would have something of a surprise to match his hangover the next morning...

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Harry didn’t so much wake up, as emerge into a world of pain.  Thumping pain at the back of his head, nausea that had him holding very still to stop himself from throwing up which would have made the headache even worse,and an overall sense of  the world not treating him kindly.

Sick, very sick.  What had he drunk, and why?

He lay still and groaned as daylight snuck underneath his partly opened eyelids.  He groped around with his hand, hoping to find his wand, possibly to end his suffering.  Instead, he encountered something that crackled.  Paper. 

Harry peeled himself upright very carefully, holding his head on with both hands, the paper resting against the side of his head.  Opening one eye, he saw the bleary shape of his bedside table, with the small blotch shape of his glasses sitting on it.  He snagged his glasses and put them on, and sat there, wobbling a little and staring at the paper in his hand.

It was a note.  Even at death’s door as he was, he recognised the handwriting.  Some things a person didn’t forget, and that black, spidery hand was one of them.

“Harry,” the message said, and he paused, not so sick that the use of his first name by the author didn’t seem strange.  He started again, and tried to concentrate.

‘Harry,

I wanted to stay and thank you again for last night, but I had that urgent appointment this morning, as you know.  Let me tell you, however, that you gave me the most extraordinary night of mind-blowing sex I…

Harry yelped, and scanned down to the bottom of the page.

Severus Snape.  Yes, there it was, definitely Snape’s signature.  He looked up again as the headache escalated to a brain tumour.

‘...the most extraordinary night of mind-blowing sex I have ever experienced.  While I still doubt your reasoning in wanting us to be bond-sworn, I agreed to the ceremony…’

“What!  Sex!  What!  Bond what!!!”  He groaned, shushing himself and looked down at the note again.

‘…against my best judgment but it seemed you truly wished it and I am no so dishonourable as to have such an amazing night of sex..’

There it was again, the sex thing!  “What sex!” he shouted at the empty bedroom.  “I had sex with Snape!  Why?  Was I…was I mad or hexed or something!”  He jumped up, the world spun, his stomach heaved and he threw himself into the bathroom. 

After retching once or twice, Harry sat on the closed toilet seat, holding his head to keep it on and clutching the note.  It was then he noticed he was naked.  He noticed something else, and peered closer. 

Was that…a hickey?  On his….thigh?  And…stomach!  And…then he felt something rather peculiar about his penis.

It had a ring on it.  A silver ring, shaped like a snake with green jewelled eyes.  Twined around the head of his penis.  He could have sworn, as he grabbed hold it, that the bloody little green eyes winked at him.

He tugged on the ring and looked at the note, fighting for reason. 

‘..and refuse to bond with my partner after us performing such acts six times.”

Harry blinked.  Six?  Crap!  .  ‘I shall naturally send off the announcement to the Daily Prophet at the first opportunity…”

The note was dropped to the floor as Harry let his beringed organ drop, stumbled to his feet, kicked his toe on the door on the way out, and began throwing on clothes.  As he did he wondered whether Azkaban was really all that bad…

~~~~~~

 

_Six Months Later_

It had been decided by the Wizengamot that the Conclave of Wizards that year would take place at the Palazzo Romanacce, a thousand year old castle overlooking the wizarding village of Orvenato in Tuscany.

Snape had never been to Italy, and the promise of free (if somewhat over-decorated) accommodation, food and the chance to explore the markets and bookstores of a part of the wizarding world he’d never visited had tempted him out of his home for the first time in months.

The weather was very Italian when he arrived;  blazing blue, cloudless sky, dry, warm air, and everything in bright shades of orange and blinding white.  It was, of course, much warmer than he was accustomed to.  He’d thought to pack a lighter set of robes, and was glad of it.  After the official introductions, greetings and announcements, Severus had dressed in his light robes and gone for a wander.  The cobbled sunlit streets drew him on as he walked from shop to shop, and by the time evening shadows drifted down the valley, he was tired and ready for his dinner.

The first night of the Conclave was always taken up with a meet-and-greet dinner, the sort of elbow-jostling affair he disliked.  However, a meal was a meal and he’d take part because it was expected, and it was free.

Severus knew many of the wizards and witches present, and even chatted with a few of them in the reception hall prior to dinner.  He was beginning to relax and think it might actually have been a good idea, when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

“Professor Snape, as I live and breathe.”

 _Damn it, what he hell is he doing here!!_  was his thought, as he turned slowly, checking for exits.

“Potter.  What a …pleasant..surprise.”

He was tanned and relaxed, wearing some Muggle outfit consisting of trousers and a white shirt, and without a wand or heavy, blunt object in sight.  Considering the last time they’d been together, and the rather interesting awakening Snape had left him, he wasn’t allowing himself to relax.  Harry smiled, teeth white in his tanned face.

“I bet it is.”

Just then the dinner bell rang and Snape took the opportunity to blend into the rush of bodies heading for the dining room.  He had only just settled at his table and begun to check out the room when Potter appeared at his elbow and settled down into the chair next to him.

“It seems we’ve been put together.  At the table.  For dinner.”  Harry smiled without turning.  “That’s convenient.”

Retreat seemed a good idea, but not possible at that moment without looking foolish, and Severus hated to be out-manouvered.  Potter being at the table with him could not be a coincidence.  He began to suspect foul play, but would not allow himself to be forced to cut and run.  A leg nudged him under the table, and since the wizard seated to his left was well into his second century and was intent on trying to read the Italian language menu upside down, that left Potter.

The feel of that leg rubbing against his half reminded him of the owner’s mouth locked around his cock, and that reminded him just who and what he was dealing with.  He turned slowly, allowed his upper lip curl upwards at one end.  “Just what are you doing?”

Harry half-turned as he reached for the wine bottle in its ice bucket.  “Getting ready to have dinner.”  He poured a glass of the wine and handed it to Severus.  “Have some wine, it’s a ‘97 Chianti, excellent vintage, I’m told.”

Severus took the glass and drank it down, watching Harry over the edge of the glass.  He seemed quite relaxed, sitting there with a half-full glass of wine, twirling the stem between his fingers.  “I still have it, by the way.  The ring, that is.”

Severus choked on the wine, and wiped his mouth on a serviette.  He was unable to think of anything suitable to say to that, so he simply sneered.  Harry’s lips quirked up.

“Yes, still have it, and plan to return it to you.  I’m curious to see if it will fit.”

Right, well, the conversation had taken a turn for the worst.  Severus stood, deciding that eating was suddenly not as important as personal safety – he wobbled, suddenly disoriented, dropped the nearly empty wine glass, and Harry was abruptly next to him, holding his elbow.

“Oh dear, have you had another attack, Severus?  I’d better get you to your room”

Severus glared at him, and then down at the broken glass.  He was unfamiliar with the taste of Chianti, which was why, of course.  He tried to back away, his knees hit the chair and before he could fall Harry had caught him, and the last thing he saw before he passed out was the totally artificial look of concern on Potter’s hovering face…..

 

 ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Awareness came slowly, and unpleasantly.  Headache, nausea, an all-over malaise that had him groaning when he opened his eyes.

At the least the light was dim; a lantern on the bedside table spread a warm glow in the otherwise darkened room.  After a few moment of blurry confusion, Severus realised it was his bedroom at the Conclave, and he was lying flat on his back in bed.  His arms were crossed chastely on his chest, and a blanket covered his otherwise naked body up to his chest.

He moved, groaned as his head throbbed, and heard the crackle of paper.  There was a sheet of his between his hands where they rested on his chest.

He sat up slowly, raised one hand to support his aching head, and squinted at the page.

_Severus,  
_

_I’ve had that particular potion for some weeks now, picked it up at a wicked little shop in Glasgow and it actually worked exactly the way the shopkeeper said it would.  Knocked you out sweetly and when you woke up – well, let’s just say, uninhibited doesn’t describe it.  You could make a fortune with that arse in some shady parts of Knockturn Alley.  
_

_Who would have known such a demon for sex lay inside that snarky exterior?  I felt it only right to get a little payback – after turning up looking demented at the newspaper office, raving like a lunatic until the staff almost had me taken away, and all for nothing, because there was no notice, was there?  Though it did take me sometime to figure out how to get that ring off.  
_

_As I told you, I’ve given it back to you. Shall we call it even?  
_

_HJP_

Severus swore and pulled the blanket away. Yes, there it was, the bloody ring was set firmly in place and he didn’t even both to try and get it off.  Whatever Potter might be, he was no fool, and he’d undoubtedly reset the holding spell keeping it in place.

_Even?  Not bloody likely!  Drug me, will you!!  We shall see about that…._

~ ~ ~ ~

 

_Three months later_

_Hot long fingered hands stroked him, bringing him erect with subtle pressure and lips moved across his skin, suckling at nipples, licking his navel, nuzzling his thigh and just when he thought he could stand no more…._

Harry woke up.

“Bloody hell!”

He pulled his pillow out from where it had become a damp, tangled lump under his head and threw it against the wall.  That wasn’t very satisfying, so he took the bed lamp from the table next to his bed and threw that against the wall, too.  He raged at the darkness, sitting with the quilt clutched around him.

“You bastard, leave me alone!”

There was no-one there, of course, and the frustration simply added to his sense out outrage.  It had been the same every night for weeks; dreams, formless at first, then changing, becoming erotic until he woke in a bed soaked with sweat, more exhausted than when he’d closed his eyes.

And he knew who was behind it:  Snape.  Snape had hexed him, put some kind of curse on him so that no matter what he did, what counter-magics or drugs or therapy or meditation he used, still he would come awake in the night wanting and hungry and unsatisfied.  Jerking off didn’t help, having sex with someone else didn’t help.  It was like some twisted fairy tale, where the character could only be woken by love’s first kiss.  Only in his case, it wasn’t a prince he wanted to climb up his tower- it was a nasty, untrustworthy, big-nosed, underhanded pest, his own personal nemesis.

_Want to kill him.  Want to cut him up into little pieces and burn the bits.  Want to fuck him so hard he sees me coming on the backside of his eyeballs!  
_

He lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.  _Why did I got to that bloody party?  Why did I get drunk?  Why him, and why me?_

Frustration boiled over, and Harry rolled out of bed and stood, pulling on his dressing gown.  It was time, and more, to go find the perpetrator and fix his bloody wagon once and for all. 

 

<center>~ ~ ~ ~ </center>

 

Snape stretched and yawned, looked up at the clock on the wall across the room.  Too late, he’d stayed up researching again past midnight, and the fire had almost gone out.  The room was getting cold and he put the scroll down before standing.  With a flick of his hand he ignited the lanterns and bent to stir the embers of the fire, watching them flame up and reignite. 

It had taken him a couple of years to get used to not having to run his life to a schedule or plan.  Since his twenties, he’d either been teaching or working for his grandfather.  He smiled, a bitter twist of his lips.  Not many people knew that – knew that the man he’d killed up there on the tower in Hogwarts in one of the most famous incidents in wizarding history, had been his mother’s father.  Albus Dumbledore, whose daughter had married a muggle and gone to live with him, changed her name to hide her past, and given her son the surname of the town where he’d been born, Snape Maltings. 

No, some things were better left unknown.  His mother had her reasons, and his grandfather as well, for keeping their secrets to the grave.  Half his blood was ordinary human being, and half could be traced back to Merlin.  _No wonder I’m peculiar…_

Put your trust in the blood was an old pureblood saying, and despite his wisdom – or perhaps because of it – Albus had trusted Snape beyond reasonable expectation.  They were linked together far more intrinsically than by any Unbreakable Vow.  Blood offered protection and support, it was an older magic than anything wizards or witches could draw on.  Blood had believed in him when others did not, and it had led him to do the unthinkable because his grandfather had trusted him to do it.

He recalled when Albus had told him of Harry’s survival, and of how he would be left with his family, for that very reason.  They would provide Blood protection, which was even more important than the fact that they despised him. 

Thinking of Harry, he wondered how he was coping with his current predicament.  Had he even thought to check his water supply?  Probably not, the man never looked at the obvious, or considered that a wizard with considerable experience at potions might have attached one to his water pipes.  A small drop here and there of a rather specialised little mix that would give the drinker some very particular dreams.  Nothing dangerous, and it would wear off in time when the potion ran out.  He would probably be thinking himself insane, to be having wet dreams about someone he hated.

The wind had risen outside, making the shutters slam against the windows, and one strong gust pushed the door open, making it swing noisily on its hinges.  Severus turned to close it, then stopped.  He sensed something, a movement of air, a familiar sense of rather frustrated presence..

“Hasn’t that damned cloak got a use by date?”

There was a swish, a brief curse and there was Harry Potter standing in the middle of his cluttered living room, looking annoyed.  With a wand in his hand.

“You bastard!”

Severus couldn’t help smiling.  “Not at all, my parents were legally married.  Whereas yours eloped.  There is no actual record…”

That got the anticipated reaction.  The wand whipped up, green eyes flashed and Potter threw a Stupify at him.  He didn’t even bother to dodge, just watched his wards take the spell and reflect it back at its sender.

Harry toppled over and hit the floor with a very satisfying bang.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Harry woke, groggy and disoriented.  It took him some time to remember the situation when he’d last been conscious.  That made him surge upright – or at least as far upright as the ropes tying him down would allow.  Which wasn’t very upright at all.

He tried to say, what _the hell is going on here_ , but it just came out as muffled squawk due to the gag in his mouth. A gag!  In his mouth!  It smelled and tasted like someone’s old sock and he moved  his head, trying to get some idea of what was going on as he pushed uselessly on the gag with his tongue.  The room was dark, shadowed, lit only by a stand of candles on a table next to the bed on which he was tied.  A gust of cool air ripped across his back.

His skin.  His fingers curled into claws as he realised he was stark naked, lying face down on what felt like a bed.  He twisted and turned his head to try and look about.

A figure moved out of the shadows and stood next to the bed.  Snape.

“Awake, I see.  I apologise for the gag, but I wanted the opportunity speak before you launched that stream of invective I imagine you have lined up.”

Snape settled into a chair next to the bed, gathering his robes about himself.  “The thing is, I cannot have you popping in a hurling curses or spells at me ad infinitum, so I have decided on a bargain.  We will come to an agreement, you and I.  I will release you and allow you to leave without any constraint.  All you have to do is beg me to take you.”

Harry nearly choked on the gag, and felt himself going red in the face as he sucked in air through his nose.  He might not be able to articulate, but the sound he made was one of pure fury.

Snape merely smiled.  “Of course, I cannot keep you here forever, nor would I wish to have you lying around my home, no matter how attractive you look this way.”  One long, pale finger moved lightly across Harry’s back, raising goosebumps.  “However I can release you in a way that is as humiliating as it is time wasting, since I know it would simply instigate another round of revenge.  So the bet is this:  if I make you beg me to take you within the duration of one night I win.  If I don’t, you win, having shown me to be quite inept at this seduction thingy, and this thing ends.  What do you say?”

Harry twisted his head back and forth, and Snape sighed.  “Very well, I will remove the gag.”  He raised one hand, which was holding two wands.  “However, remember the mirror ward I have in place.  Anything you launch at me will simply rebound upon you.”

After a few seconds, Harry nodded, and Snape leaned forward to untie the gag.  It slid free of Harry’s head and he spat it out of his mouth.  Harry looked across at Snape through narrowed eyes, and said the absolutely last thing he’d intended to say.

“You’re on!”

He thought, in the small part of his brain not gone totally mad, that Snape was as surprised as he was.  The older wizard hid it well, though; just a twitch of his dark eyebrows.

“That was remarkably…easy.  You must have confidence in your abilities – or a disrespect for mine.  Well, we shall see.”

Snape stood and went to a table on the far side of the room, and Harry took a moment to look around.  They were in a bedroom, neat but small with windows hung with dark curtains and walls lined with bookshelves.  The bed itself was large, a four-poster but without the top curtain, simply four tall corner posts.  Harry’s limbs were tied to the posts, arms and legs stretched, the rope fitting snugly around his wrists and ankles.  He pulled at them but they the rope didn’t give.  While not uncomfortable, it was disturbing to be so helpless.  He wasn’t sure why, but he realised part of him rather liked it. 

Snape returned with a small stone bottle which he uncapped, pouring the contents onto his hand.  Harry saw a flash of something beneath Snape’s robes and realised the man was naked under the single long, black robe. 

Rubbing his hands slowly, Snape watched Harry from beneath lowered eyelids.  “This is a little something of my own making.  It’s a type of massage oil.  Have you ever been massaged, Potter?”

“Can’t say that I have.  A new line of work for you, is it??

A smile twitched up the edge of the thin lips.  “If it were, and I used this, I imagine I might actually make quite a good job of it.”  He sat on the bed next to Harry, twisted towards him, and put his hands onto Harry’s shoulders.  Snape began to rub in slow, even strokes, massaging the shoulder and neck muscles, pressing in with thumb and finger.

The oil was warmed from Snape’s hands, but a few moments later there was something else.  Harry felt his skin heat, and then tingle, as if tiny electric currents were moving into him with the oil and the touch.  Snape’s hands moved downwards, stroking over the shoulder blades, the ribs and down to Harry’s waist.  Where his hands passed, Harry’s skin felt as if it were glowing, as if every nerve end had been vitalised.

The next obvious spot was Harry’s arse, and he tensed, but Snape slid around it, running slick palms down his side over his hips, to return to the back of his thighs.  Snape slid further down the bed as he worked on Harry’s legs, massaging thigh and knee, shin and calf, and finally his feet.

And just when Harry thought he might dissolve into a total puddle of bliss, the slick, hot hands lighted on his arse.

Tension made him arch, but the hands soothed him, stroking and circling the big buttock muscles, squeezing and pressing, thumbs digging in, fingers sliding up and down the crease between the muscles, spreading the oil, shooting little blasts of pleasure through him to the groin.

Harry ground his teeth together, denying the arousal that was growing with each stroke of the finger.  He sucked in his breath, thought of dead things and frozen water and swamps, anything to take his mind off what those hands were doing.

One finger teased the opening, gently probing through the pucker of muscle while the other slid between his thighs to lightly rub the tender place between arse and balls.

_Horrible pimply swamp monsters and icy cold blizzards and oh my god that feels so gooooood_

He felt something nudge the opening, twisted his head, and froze in shocked arousal at the sight of Severus Snape pushing his prominent nose between Harry’s buttocks.

Something gibbered inside at the sight of that, at the languid way Snape twisted his head from side to side, up and down, the nose nudging Harry open like a flower to the sun.

It was absolutely the most obscenely outrageous thing he’d ever seen, and he realised he was lying there, as hard as a rock, with Severus Snape's nose in his arse.

That deep, deadly voice whispered, breath moving over his sensitive skin.  "Shall I stop now?"  The nose was withdrawn, the fingers returned, to move gently over his arse, then down to stroke the tender skin between balls and cock.  Then that hand wrapped around him, squeezing, releasing, squeezing again until his jaws ached from grinding together.  "I can stop now, Harry, if you want me to."

The ropes at his ankles were loosened and his hips raised; then Snape was beneath him, sliding underneath to take Harry's cock into his mouth.  Harry groaned, arching upwards as that rotten, beastly mouth swallowed him, sucking on his cock like it was a sweet, that wretched tongue doing things to him that should be – and probably were – against some sort of law.

"Cheating," he said, between the groans.  "Not fair."

Snape chuckled, the sound vibrating into Harry's cock and he shouted, using every ounce will not to come. 

"Stop it, stop it…"

Snape released his cock and pulled away.  _Noonononon_

"No, don't…"

"You said stop.  I said I would if you asked me to."

"Right now – NOW -  you fucking listen to me!  Don't stop, for godsake!"

"Language."  A hand slapped his naked arse.   Snape made a _hmmm_ noise, and slapped him again.  "Now, don't I wish I could have done that to you when you were a pupil.  How many times did I want to pull down your trousers, push you over a desk and slap your arse until you howled."  The hand smoothed over the tingling skin.  "And such an attractive arse, although at the time I didn't really see you in that light.  Annoying little bastard was more the view, as I recall."  The hand came down again, harder.  "Yes, I think I might have enjoyed…punishing you…Mr Potter."

 _Damn._ This wasn't good.  Not good at all.  Oh, on some dark, unsuspected kinky level it was very good indeed because how was he to know that the feel and sound of Severus Snape smacking his bottom was the sexiest thing he'd felt since…well, since Severus Snape had put a nose up his arse…but it was bad.  Because it was so very good.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Severus was surprised to find how natural it felt, as if he was skilled in some hitherto unknown art.  He found that he could strike the rounded swell of Harry's arse so that the impact made the pale flesh shake, and the sound of the strike was perfect.  It was like an ovation, a biting applause. 

He felt himself hardening, arousal growing at each blow.  Harry was making small sounds; groans, sobs, muttered words that sounded like swearing, but Severus sensed no distress.  The fact that Harry's cock was, if anything, even more swollen than before, was evidence enough.  _Who would have guess_ , he thought, as he struck again and again, _that the Hero of the War got off on being spanked…_   Or that he would be just as aroused to be doing the spanking.

Harry writhed against the ropes, twisting and turning as if to escape the blows which he could have stopped easily at a word.  His arse was red by then, hot to each hard touch.  What the pain felt like, Severus could imagine.  _Each blow goes through him, arse to groin, like an electric shock.  It must be exquisite_.

And when the skin felt just right, he stopped and bent forward to press his face against the reddened skin, stroking with his bearded chin, licking the hot, damp flesh.

Harry shuddered.  "Oh…god…please…"

"What?  What do you want, Harry?"  He kept his voice soft, as gentle as his nature allowed.  "What do you want me to do?"

"More.  Do more.  Want…you…"  The voice was nothing like its normal clever self, it was the sound of a lost and hungry soul.

Severus slid his finger down into the hot crease between the reddened buttocks;  Harry arched back, spreading his legs and it was as hot a sight as anything Severus had ever seen.  But still he waited.

"Tell me.  Tell me to take you.  Tell me you want me to fuck you.  Tell me."

"Yes, you black-hearted Slytherin dark wizard bastard, fuck me!"

Severus slid between the spread legs, pulling his pants open and his cock out in nearly frantic haste.  He leant forward over Harry's back, wrapped his arms under the dark, hot body, grabbed Harry's cock and pushed forward, mounting him in one fluid movement.

He was tight, hot, wonderful.  Harry hissed, moaned, and pushed back against him, taking him deeper.  Severus squeezed with his hands even as he thrust harder, deeper, until his hips slammed against Harry's arse.  Then there was no more talking, just the moist sound of their bodies moving together, Harry's moans, his own grunting breath. 

With one final heave he jerked Harry off, felt the hot semen splash into his hand as Harry convulsed against him.  Severus worked deeper, faster, till the pressure built and he arched back, groaning, and came in waves of blinding pleasure.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

t had been a long time since anyone had fucked him, and even longer since he'd slept with a sexual partner.  Somehow, though, it seemed natural to slip into sleep with Severus Snape wrapped around him.  It felt familiar, and he couldn't even puzzle that out before he fell headfirst into sleep. 

What was even more surprising was to find Snape still there when he returned to the world of the recently-fucked. 

Harry realised he was clean, dressed in someone else's black pyjama pants, on his back, and Snape was lying along side him on his side, head on his hands, watching him. 

_He isn't attractive, he's years older than me, and even the beard and the silver in the hair doesn't make him that way.  But, Gods and lesser demons, he's an amazing lover and he knows me better than I know myself.  Isn't that a revelation!_

And what surprised Harry even more was Snape reaching out to take his hand.  "I meant what I said at that damned party, Potter – I'm not a nice man.  Good sex doesn't change that, nothing will ever change that." 

Harry smiled, and wrapped his fingers around Snapes'.  Self-delusion was a wonderful thing, and nice was a matter of perspective.  _Whoever said I wanted nice?_   “And what I said at that damned party, about not being for sale?    Well, you _can_ have me.  But not for free.  You have to pay with your life.” 

He hadn't expected poetry, but the strength of the hand holding his, and the vulnerable light in the depths of the dark, watching eyes, was answer enough. Life, that had been winding down to boredom, had just become very interesting indeed.  He curled over and settled down to rest.  "I need to get drunk more often.  It's awfully rewarding…"


End file.
